#petoskeystones
My heartbeat pulses
like the north star
in my lower lip: I am, I am, I am.
My hair is humid; it curls like
smoke.
I toss Petoskey stones back
to Lake Michigan
where they’ll be safe from
souvenir shops,
at least until they
land on shore again.
I suppose dreams are like that,
washing up again and again
on our eyes shoreline.
Jun 24, 2015
Jun 24, 2015 at 9:26 AM UTC